Best Lesbian Romance 2014 (19 page)

“Definitely.” She launched into a lecture, which I'm sure was interesting, but my mind was otherwise occupied.

When she stood to leave, I tried to nail down our next meeting. “Can we have dinner together tonight?”

“Down, girl. Remember, we're going to be friends. We are not dating. Talk to me after class tomorrow and we'll see about getting together again.”

I was up and down, thinking it was going to happen, then thinking it was impossible because of her ethics. Students and professors were getting it on constantly, but I had to fall for the only ethical professor on campus. Was this punishment for all the hearts I had broken?

The next morning I arrived at seven fifty with coffee, a banana and a corn muffin for her. She showed up at eight on the dot, ignored the gifts I'd brought and went right into her lecture. A few minutes before the end of the period she ended the discussion and sat on the edge of her desk.

“I've been thinking about how best to communicate all the
material I have to cover in a way that will ensure you grasp it. So, I'll be available Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings at the Coffee Bean for anyone with questions on what we've covered. In addition, I'll host a salon in my rooms Friday evenings for you and any of your friends interested in psychology. Each week, we'll discuss in depth what I've presented in class. Attendance at these extra sessions is optional and will not affect your grade. See you there or not.” Her eyes met mine as she started gathering her things, then a student was between us asking her a question.

Anger replaced shock. I stormed out.

I moped around all day Thursday. Friday morning I stayed in bed rather than go to the Coffee Bean. By early Friday evening, I was in withdrawal but wavering about whether to go to her salon when Tally showed up.

“You want to go to the salon? Check out where the prof lives?”

It was all I needed to convince me. “You don't think it will be boring?”

“If it is, we'll disappear.”

So I went. The minute I walked in, I knew it was a mistake. It was painful. She was vivacious and beautiful and I felt there was no room for me in the circle of girls surrounding her. I wandered around looking for clues to her life but found nothing. Every so often our eyes would meet across the room and I'd pretend interest in something else. After twenty minutes I was done. I told Tally I had a headache and went to retrieve my jacket and boots. When I stood after tying my boots, she was there. I swayed toward her. She stepped back.

Her dark eyes were luminous. “Leaving?”

I broke eye contact to shrug into my jacket. “I have a headache.”

“We haven't had a chance to talk. Can I get you a cup of tea or an aspirin?”

I was so miserable I couldn't meet her eyes. “Thanks, I need some fresh air. Nice party. See you in class.” I walked past her.

Her hand gripped my wrist. “Brett.”

I turned. “Yes?” I couldn't keep the hope out of my voice.

“I'm sorry.”

She looked pained.

“You are?” Still hopeful, I held my breath.

“About your headache.”

“Thanks.” I unclamped her fingers and dashed out the door.

It was freezing, a typical snowy February night, but I walked for hours, feeling betrayed and abandoned. Later, lying in bed, pride kicked in and I resolved to get over her. I would limit my contact to class.

And I did. But when Tally told me Jenna Phillips and Dr. Caldwell were an item, I was devastated.

My fan club noticed. And, worried their intervention had put me into a depression, they visited one night. They made me feel loved, something I badly needed right then. We hugged. I said I was all right, just focused on the future. But our meeting made me realize how much of my sex life was about the need for and fear of being loved. I talked to my therapist about it, but never breathed a word about her, Dr. Caldwell.

Right before spring break, just seven weeks after I fell for Dr. Caldwell, she asked me to stay after class. I hung back until everyone else had left. It was the first time we were alone since I walked out of that party. Part of me hoped she would come on to me.

“Brett, I'm worried about you. You look terrible. Do you have time for a cup of coffee before you leave?”

Up to now, I hadn't given her a chance to tell me she wasn't
interested, and no way was I going to let her use the “drop the bomb and leave” move that I'd used on Mercy in December. “Sorry, I have to run.” And I was out of there. Let her feel guilty for another week.

By five o'clock that night the campus was deserted except for those few with no place to go or those who, like me, chose to stay and work.

And work I did, on my thesis every day in the library, usually late into the night. I barely spoke to anyone. By two o'clock Thursday afternoon, I needed to be outside in the sunshine. I went to the dorm and changed into running clothes. I ran for miles, enjoying the snow-covered trails, letting my mind go free, feeling the warmth of the sexual fantasies about us. How could we not be together? It wasn't fair to feel so deeply attracted to someone and not be able to know her. It wasn't just sex or lust. I wanted to know her in every way, to share her life. Maybe forever.

That thought stopped me short. Forever? The fan club would be happy but the thought made me nervous, even though I wanted it with my total being. Well, I hated to break it to myself, but it wasn't going to happen. She wasn't interested.

Out of breath and approaching my favorite spot along the path, I slowed to cool down. I stopped when I reached my bench, the secret place I'd never shared with anyone. You had to walk off the path to find it. I came here often to think and enjoy the quiet and the beauty. I sat and stared at the water. Instead of batting the feelings away, I let myself experience the longing, the sadness and the loneliness. But when I felt self-pity edging in, I pulled myself together. In another seven weeks, I'd be leaving here, and her, going to New York to start my new job and the rest of my life. Dr. Emily Caldwell would still be here teaching, and after a while, she would be a distant memory.

The crunching of the snow alerted me to someone approaching. I was enjoying the solitude, so I kept my back to the path and hoped whoever it was would not try to engage in conversation. The footsteps stopped. I tensed. No one on campus knew where I was. What if it was a rapist or a killer? I slowly took my keys out of my pocket and put them in my fist with the keys sticking through my fingers like I'd learned in self-defense class.

The person moved right behind me. Whoever it was cleared her throat. Her throat. It was a woman. I relaxed somewhat and waited for her to go away, but she stood there behind me. I forced myself not to look, hoping she would get the message. Oh, hell, I was starting to get cold. I stood and turned to leave and found myself falling into those deep brown eyes. I reached for the bench to steady myself at the same time as she did. Somehow, we ended up holding hands. All thoughts of cold were gone.

“Brett, what are you doing on campus?” Her voice was accusing.

“I stayed to work on my thesis. Is that a problem?”

She shook her head. “Sorry, sorry, I was shocked to see you here. I was taking a walk and thinking about you and suddenly you were there sitting on my bench.”

Thinking about me? “Your bench?”

She laughed. “I should have said my favorite bench. I come here often to think and meditate.”

“Wow. This is my favorite bench. I also come here a lot.”

She shivered. “I'm cold. I know you're angry with me, but can we walk back together?” She glanced down at our locked hands. “Sorry.” She stuffed her hands in her pockets.

We walked in silence for a long time, a comfortable silence, then she stopped. “What am I going to do with you?”

“I have a few ideas.” As soon as it came out of my mouth I
realized I sounded really piggy. “I'm sorry, that was insulting.”

She looked pained. “How can I make you understand, Brett? A relationship is not possible.”

I opened my mouth but she put her hand on my lips to keep me from speaking.

“An affair with a student could destroy my career.”

I felt a stab of anger. “Really? What about Jenna Phillips? Is she exempt from these restrictions?”

She looked puzzled. “What are you talking about?”

“Don't go all innocent on me. It's all over campus that you and Jenna are a thing.”

She paled. We glared at each other. I with rage in my eyes, she with…with pain in hers. I guessed it hurt to get caught in a lie.

She rubbed her temples. “Is that why you've been so angry?”

“Partly.” Why not me?

“I'm not involved with Jenna.” She seemed to be searching for words. “Even if she wasn't my student, I would not choose to be involved with Jenna.”

“Well, she's blabbing all over the place.” Na, na, I sounded like a five-year-old.

“I'll address that when classes resume next week.”

So maybe Jenna was lying, but I didn't understand about us. “I'm also angry because you said you would see about us getting together again, then I find out in class that all the other students are invited. Did I misunderstand?”

She offered a sweet, sad smile. “When I thought about it, I realized it would look like we were involved.” She blushed. “And I thought I would have a hard time controlling the situation if we spent too much time alone.”

“Do you mean a hard time controlling me?”

“Yes.” She looked into my eyes. “I've heard stories about
you, Brett. Love 'em and leave 'em stories. Twenty lovers in three and a half years. Is that right?”

I started to walk away.

“Brett, is it true?”

“Who told you?”

“I'd rather not say.”

“That bitch Jenna?”

She shrugged.

“But you're different.”

“That's what they all say.”

“So, do I give up hope?”

Her smile was tender. “Never give up hope, Brett. None of us knows what the future holds. But we do know we can have group breakfasts and group Friday nights for the next six weeks.”

“No time alone?”

“No.”

She hadn't said no, hadn't said she wasn't interested or didn't love women. And at least she wasn't involved with that beast Jenna. If I focused on papers and thesis and readings, the six weeks would fly by. I nodded. “There is one thing.”

“Yes?”

“Do I have to call you Professor Caldwell?”

“That's what my students call me.”

“Can I hold your hand sometimes?”

“Absolutely no physical contact.”

“What about phone sex?”

She blushed. “No phone sex.”

“Looks like you like the idea.”

“And absolutely no flirting.” She bopped me on the head. “Time to go home.”

In the next six weeks, I spent every minute I could with her. She made sure we were never alone. She was friendly with all her
students, but I noticed Jenna only appeared in class. Sometimes, very rarely, she would touch my face or put her hand on mine, then pull back. I didn't know what to make of her breaking her own rule, but I was besotted and burning with desire and welcomed whatever crumbs she offered. If I alluded to it, she put her fingers over my mouth and shushed me. As graduation got closer, it dawned on me that we would be separated when I moved to New York City to work on Wall Street. I was frantic. She reassured me we would stay in contact.

Finally, graduation day arrived. Diploma in hand, I grinned as she made her way through the crowd to me. I was no longer her student.

She wrapped me in a hug and kissed my cheek. “I'm sorry I can't stay, Brett. I have some business to take care of. It can't wait.”

I jerked back. “What?” I shouted. “You can't—”

Nearby conversations stopped. Heads turned.

She put an envelope in my hand. “I have to go.” She dashed into the crowd.

She was gone. Had it all been a tease? Kate and Tally found me staring at the envelope.

Kate took the envelope out of my hand and stuffed it in my bag. “C'mon, let's go get a drink.”

Good idea. I went off to get drunk with the women who loved me.

The next morning, still unable to believe it, I went by her apartment on the way to the train. She had moved out. And though I'd said rejection was part of life and could make you stronger, it hurt like hell.

The following Saturday, I emptied my pocketbook looking for a hair tie and found the envelope. I'd forced myself not to look at
it, then forgotten it in the rush of the new job. I started to toss it, but I was curious. Not a graduation card. An invitation to a dinner party at eight that night at an apartment near NYU. I was enraged. Screw her and her party. Around seven fifty, I decided I needed to say “fuck you” to her face. At eight thirty, I rang the bell. The door flew open.